


The Devil's House

by Damceon



Category: Erotic Fiction - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damceon/pseuds/Damceon
Summary: This, along with any other of my works, is a work of fiction (surprise) and all situations, events, characters, names, and places are fictitious and/or otherwise unrelated to real entities with similar/same names.  Any similarity to real persons, places, or things, past present or future, is coincidental and not intended to represent reality in any way.Also, grow a fukkin' sense of 'umor.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Meeting a Minister

**Author's Note:**

> This, along with any other of my works, is a work of fiction (surprise) and all situations, events, characters, names, and places are fictitious and/or otherwise unrelated to real entities with similar/same names. Any similarity to real persons, places, or things, past present or future, is coincidental and not intended to represent reality in any way.
> 
> Also, grow a fukkin' sense of 'umor.

Disclaimer: Grow a sense of humor. This is a work of fiction, inspired by real events (not disclosed) and by existing figures (real or otherwise). Similarities, etc., etc. and all that it entails, being a work of fiction. If you don’t like it, quit reading. Don’t whine to me, I’m not interested in your philosophy or religion.

…

Jacob turned the bit of leather strap in his hand, admiring a moment the grain and color of the worked hide, studying the lines of fatigue before deciding that it would serve for the day. Tightening the strap with a swift tug, he cinched the buckle and stood up. Kam snorted a complaint, but Jacob wasn’t concerned. Kam rarely knew what was best.

With everything in place, Jacob nodded to himself and gripped the saddle; stepped into the stirrup and swept up onto the horse’s back. Kam shifted only slightly at the increased weight and stamped his hoof against the moist earth, snorting a plume of steaming breath into the chill air.

With a nudge of his knees, Jacob directed Kam out of the yard and across the rolling hills of his uncle’s land. It was going to be a glorious Spring. A pity he had to return home so soon.

…

“Jacob’s out riding, sir.” the manservant bowed low, his clothes neatly pressed and his demeanor just a crisp and tidy. A Caucasian male of forty years, perhaps. “His uncle, your brother-in-law, regrettably informed me that your son will likely not be able to return your call until dusk.”

“Not unexpected.” the minister steepled his fingers and gazed dourly out the window, his lips pursing into a frown. From moment to moment, he seemed to be anywhere from his mid-thirties to late fifties… but always his eyes were bright and piercing. “What appointments, today?”

“Sir, you have two meetings here at the house and another three in the city.” The manservant reviewed a leather-clad ledger, his hand skimming down the page ahead of his eyes. “Here, we have Dylan Appleton, nine forty-five this morning, regarding a matter of finance. Also here, Melissa Delacroix is scheduled to arrive no later than eleven this morning, though you do not have a purpose listed for her visit. After noon, Sir, you are scheduled to meet with the Dunswich Brokerage at two thirty, and then directly to the Hallifax meeting with the Board by three thirty. This evening, at five, you have a private meeting with Martin Dunswich of the brokerage and the note on the schedule is the name “Corinne”- I hope I have not butchered the name, sir.”

“No, you haven’t.” The minister glanced at his manservant, his nostrils flaring slightly as he cast his eyes over the man. Minister and servant were locked together for a brief instant while the minister considered something. “Reschedule my appointment with Mr. Appleton, at his earliest discretion, and call Ms. Delacroix and tell her she’s to be her promptly as soon as she’s able.”

“At once, sir.” The manservant bowed, his eyes finding the floor without shifting. “Will there be anything else, before I make such arrangements, sir?”

“Yes.” The minister stood and walked toward his manservant. “I find myself with appetite this morning. Have the kitchen prepare something substantial, Chris will know what to do from there. Thank you.”

“Right away, sir.” The manservant bowed again and exited the study.

Elliot will have to be sent home, soon. The minister watched the servant as the man walked away, noting the precision of his gait and the measured breathing. I wonder if Martin Dunswich would prove half so competent?

With the barest quirk of his lips, the minister turned back to his study and took a deep breath. It was going to be a glorious Spring.

…

“Jacob…” He could hear his name in her breath, could almost see it rising in the clouds as she gasped. Phoebe’s legs clamped around his ears, smothering the sound of her voice and filling his ears with the thundering of her pulse in her muscled thighs.

Farmer’s daughter, indeed. Jacob couldn’t grin, though the thought amused him. Instead, he twirled his tongue against the sixteen year-old girl’s soaking pussy and flicked against her clitoris several times, eliciting a shudder with each stroke. Her milky skin was smooth and soft over toned, developed muscle. The sensation of touching her excited him, her scent intoxicating. The throb of her legs against his head was making a crick in his neck, but it was a negligible nuisance.

He’d met her out on one of his many rides during the latter part of the winter, a dark, hunched mass of thermal clothing slogging through knee-deep snow. Jacob had offered her to double on his saddle back to her home, though he never asked what chore had brought her out in such weather. To be fair, she’d never asked why he’d been out riding.

Another shiver washed over his face as Phoebe began to orgasm, the higher pitch in her voice just audible past the bass rumbling of her heartbeat and the slurping noises echoing in Jacob’s mouth. He liked this part. When she came, everything tensed… then she would go slack and start to spasm. The tremors, as he thought of them, would last almost a minute, during which her over-stimulated clit was so engorged it hurt to do anything more than breathe on it.

“Jacob…!” And Phoebe’s breath caught in her throat, her pale face darkened as blood rushed to her head. Jacob watched expectantly, his body steaming with sweat in the chill Spring morning. Phoebe clutched at his light brown hair, grasping in bunches and held tightly. Jacob winced as her fingernails dug into his scalp, but offered no complaint. His hands cupped her hips as Phoebe thrashed with ecstasy.

After several moments, Jacob breathed deliberately on Phoebe’s soaked lips, noting the way her body shook and the skin folded a certain way. The slight cooling made her clitoris tuck deeper into the folds of her labia, though he could see it clear enough moments ago. Phoebe gasped, pursing her lips to exhale slowly as she shivered.

“That was amazing…” She offered at length, still breathing heavily. Jacob crawled up from her crotch, their hips meeting. “… How do you not have a girlfriend back home?”

“I wasn’t interested.” Jacob leaned down, kissing her lips, letting her taste herself on his mouth. Phoebe moaned, clutching his shoulders and running her hands down his arms as their tongues caressed each other. Jacob’s cock twitched impatiently against Phoebe’s pubic mount, eager to find its own satiation. Jacob pulled himself up from the kiss.

“…please…” Phoebe’s voice was small and pleading, her hips wiggling urgently beneath him, sending a thrill of anticipation through the head of his dick.

Already drunk with lust, Jacob nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded as he tilted his hips and rocked backward.

“…gently…” It was almost a whine, but Jacob felt the word more than he heard it. The seconds stretched out to minutes… hours… days… agonizingly slow, yet infinitely more intense for the waiting. His heart beat fire through his veins and soon the only sound he heard was the rush of his own heart.

His cock touched her outer lips, wet and burning hot even in the cool air of Spring. Phoebe took a deep breath, gritting her teeth and not quite knowing what to expect. She could barely stand the waiting, but she knew a girl’s first time was always painful… that’s what everyone said. She could feel the heat of Jacob’s body, knew the strength in his arms. She wanted him so desperately… she wanted him to be inside her, burning her, pulling and filling and… her mind fumbled blindly in instinct, not knowing the words to describe it, yet.

He pushed inward slowly. Painfully slowly, he thought. The head of his cock was on fire with sensation. Jacob began panting quickly, his breath so fast and shallow Phoebe thought he might pass out, but he kept pushing in with that inexorable slowness. She could feel the resistance, the increasing pressure…

Then he tore through. Phoebe’s mind blanked out for a moment as it struggled to comprehend and describe what it was feeling from her stretching pussy. Jacob was inside her, pushing past her ruptured hymen and deeper into her virgin tunnel. He was breathing so hard and fast, she could feel the rippling of his body inside her stomach and the sensation began to drown out the pain.

“…oh, fuck… Jacob…” Phoebe panted, breathless, her head lolling from side to side.

“Phoebe…” Jacob grunted, hissing through clenched teeth. He knew he had to be close to bursting… but something began to nag at the back of his mind.

“Please… fuck!… Jacob… fuckin’ god… oh, Christ…” Phoebe rocked back and forth as Jacob began to piston his hips. Slowly for the first few strokes, then with greater force and urgency. Soon, he was hammering the head of his cock against Phoebe’s cervix, demanding entrance into her womb.

“F…f-fuck…” Jacob squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake-off the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Beneath him, Phoebe was having her first coital orgasm. The convulsions were like a seizure.

“J-Ja…co-ob…” Phoebe began to mouth words, but the only sounds that came out were feral grunts and moans. She couldn’t control any part of her body, so excruciating was her pleasure.

Still, Jacob’s mind dragged at his libido. Something was definitely wrong. What had he done wrong? Clearly, Phoebe was having the greatest orgasm of her life… why did he suddenly feel the need to get up and leave? His own orgasm had been building for several minutes, but now it seemed miles away.

What the fuck is wrong with me? His eyes opened and he looked at Phoebe, already lost in her own euphoria. He tried to quicken his tempo, but it was like his dick had gone numb.

“…the fuck…” he mumbled amid deep breaths to keep up his furious pace.

Gonna have to ask the old man about this. Jacob stopped fucking Phoebe’s well-thrashed cunt and hung his head, sweat dripping down his nose onto Phoebe’s pert breasts.

…

“Won’t you come in, Ms. Delacroix…?” The minister motioned the thirty-something business woman into the den.

The den measured twenty feet on a side, with a brace of tapestries on one wall facing a fire opposite. Several large, ornately carved armchairs were arrayed facing the fire with a trio of small tables set with bottles of liquor and glasses and a single place-setting of a plate, fork and knife (an already eaten meal as evidenced by the crumbs that remained). The minister was seated in a chair facing away from the door, so he had waved from the side of the chair without leaning out to look or even stand up.

“Mr. Tavish.” Ms. Delacroix hesitated at the door, an odd sound catching her ear. Perhaps the minister was eating fruit in his chair.

“Please, call me Sam.” Sam’s strong hand motioned again for her to enter the den. “And please do sit down, Ms. Delacroix. There’s no need for ceremony. May I call you Gwen? Gwenneth Delacroix, no?”

“… it is.” Gwen stepped into the room, feeling an almost electric rush as her high-heels touched the thick rug on the rich oak floor. The room was hot, she could tell. The clink of ice in a glass and something like fruit being eaten. Two paces and she was spared no detail of exactly what she was hearing.

The minister, Sam Tavish, was lazily swirling brandy in a glass, the two ice cubes clinking hypnotically. His otherwise unreadable face had a trace of a smile on his ageless lips. The suit he was known for wearing was slightly rumpled and kneeling between his legs was a nude woman working her head up and down rhythmically on his groin.

Gwen stopped breathing, choked by shock. She could plainly see that Sam’s cock was massive from this angle, nearly three inches across the base and (she guessed) at least nine inches long. The woman sucking him off was bobbing her head up and down a considerable distance, but more impressively she was burying her face to Sam’s pubic hair with each down stroke and gurgling saliva around his cock as she went.

“…I.” But words failed her. Gwen was stunned, horrified, and incredibly confused by the blatant carnal display. The woman fellating Sam Tavish seemed oblivious to her presence.

“Gwen, please sit down.” Sam’s bright blue eyes stole her gaze away from the spectacle at his groin and held her without mercy. “I want to thank you for answering my summons with such haste.”

Gwen moved to the indicated chair numbly, her lips moving to make words but failing utterly to sound any of them out. She sank, eyes fixed with Sam’s, into the chair opposite him.

“Linda Carlysle, this is Gwenneth Delacroix.” Sam Tavish’s voice was all politeness and courtesy as he introduced the women.

Linda paused on an upstroke long enough to take a deep breath and glance at Gwen. When their eyes met, Linda swallowed quickly and gave a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gwen.” And as though it were completely natural, Linda opened her mouth again and resumed her savage oral attentions on Sam’s thick rod.

Gwen paled, the shock settling deeper as part of her mind recoiled in horror. The thinking parts of her brain struggled for dominance, making her flush with anger though she couldn’t find words to adequately express what she was feeling.

“Would you like a drink?” Sam caught her gaze again. So close were the images, Gwen had no trouble seeing Linda’s work while keeping her eyes locked with Sam’s.

“…no.” Her voice felt small, distant. She felt horribly flustered by the calm and ease of Tavish in this wholly depraved display. “I… I came…”

“You came here because you believed your fiancée was being unfaithful, Gwen.” Those steely blue eyes never seemed to blink, and Sam’s face was an unmoving mask despite his companion's preoccupation with his tumescent dick. “And the news I have is not flattering of him, as you’d feared.”

“He…?” Gwen latched onto the reason she’d come to see this man. “…Derrick was cheating on me?”

“Yes, but not with anyone whom you associate regularly.” Sam motioned to the table nearest Gwen, where a white, letter-sized envelope sat. “There are details there, if you like… but the reason I wanted you to meet me here at my home is because of something you have done.”

“I’ve…?” Now Gwen was back to being lost. “…What’s going on…?”

“You've withheld vital information about yourself.” Sam steepled his fingers and blinked deliberately. "I can see I must be more direct in your education."

... to be continued...


	2. Introductions Aside

Disclaimer: As from previous chapter(s)...

…

Previously, Jacob experienced a frustration during an intimate moment with an age-of-consent partner. Sam Tavish is introduced to Ms. Gwen Delacroix.

  
  


…

  
  


Saturday morning at the Shepherd for the Immaculate Nazarene was subdued, the minister's sermon was poignant and left many of the congregants in silent reflection at the end of the service. Dr. Tavish exited the worship hall to greet his congregants as they departed on their way to conduct their weekly business that spanned the time between sermons.

  
  


Jacob was the first to approach Sam Tavish, embracing him warmly and whispering in his ear.

  
  


“We need to talk, dad.” Jacob's concern was obvious, be he masked it well from onlookers with a brilliant smile as they stepped to arms-length from one another.

  
  


“Of course, Jacob.” the minister smiled, squeezing his son's shoulder. “If you'd wait in my office, I'll just be a few minutes.”

  
  


Jacob nodded, his smile slipping slightly as he turned to go back into the church. Other members of the congregation were already shaking hands with Sam Tavish, thanking him for his thoughtful and though-provoking reflections on the holy text. Others embraced him warmly and offered salutations for the pending week-long absence, or else promised to call or drop by during the week, and a few others spoke quietly, furtively of their own troubles brought forward by the sermon.

  
  


The younger Tavish vaulted up the steps of the narrow staircase just outside the worship hall, taking the passage two stairs at a time to the landing and further to the second floor offices where administrative business was conducted for the church. The appointments of the church were modest, though entirely hand-crafted late 19th century woodwork and masonry. The rugs, all gifts of one sort or another, gave the upper offices a closeness and a warmth that was otherwise absent in the chill of the precise stonework.

  
  


Jacob knew that his father kept a small cache of toffees in his desk, and the prospect of such a morsel proved distraction enough that he paid no heed to the odd, electric sensation in the air as he passed up the corridor and opened the last door on the left into his father's office.

  
  


Stained glass cast shard of color through the room in a panoply of light, and Jacob stopped in his tracks. Two people were vigorously copulating in the office, using the desk as a bed for their efforts. The man and woman looked to Jacob in surprise.

  
  


“Shut the door, boy!” Elliot hissed, his hips not breaking their rhythmic thrust against the pelvis of his female companion.

  
  


“Elliot?!” Jacob's alarm forestalled any action, but the manservant rebuked him in earnest.

  
  


“Pity's sake! Shut the damn door!” Elliot grunted, turning his focus to the woman who's eyes were transfixing Jacob for the moment.

  
  


“It's alright, Elliot. He can watch.” She gasped... “Sam's son... oh, god...”

  
  


She shuddered in orgasm, the wet slapping of their bodies ringing in Jacob's ears like a bizarre drum cadence. His cock hardened in response and, despite his stupor, his hand pushed the door closed behind him.

  
  


“Omigod, Elliot...” she gasped for breath, her gray-auburn tresses sticking to her face. “Elliot, please... spit-roast me. Would the two of you spit-roast me, Elliot?”

  
  


“Jacob?” Elliot looked up, stopping his fervent thrusting to step away from the desk, his dick flopping messily out of her pussy. “Connie here wants extra cock, today. Are you game?”

  
  


“Game? Elliot?” Jacob stammered, barely able to find his voice. His hips lurched forward of their own accord, his feet taking a tentative step into the room. The scent of sex was intense.

  
  


“Jacob, please.” Connie pleaded, turning her body lewdly across the desk to lay belly-down facing him. “Let me suck your cock. Please, I want your cock in my throat while Elliot fucks my ass.”

  
  


“Um... I- I don't...” Jacob's feet inched forward, his cock straining against his pants. This woman was shapely, curvy... a mother or grandmother in her late forties perhaps. The arrogant, prideful, socially conscious aspects of his mind recoiled... but the lust drive of youth refused denial. His nostrils flared, his cock strained... her hands snaked forward, impossibly close to his belt yet too far to find purchase on him.

  
  


“Please.” She whined.

  
  


“C'mon, Jacob.” Elliot stepped behind Connie's hips, reaching into a side drawer of Sam's desk to product a small bottle of lubricant. Jacob's attention pulled away from Connie's eager beckoning, caught by the peculiar realization that Elliot couldn't have **planted** the lube in the desk. Jacob stepped forward to ask Elliot about it, Connie completely forgotten for the barest instant.

  
  


Too late, her hands snapped to his hips and yanked his groin to her face and inhaling deeply.

  
  


“Oh, fuck.” Connie sighed. “Sam Tavish's son... that's a mighty beast you've got in there, Jacob.”

  
  


She wasted no time in wrestling Jacob's belt loose and his pants open. His cock sprang free in a trice, slapping at the side of her face meatily.

  
  


“Well, you heard the woman.” Elliot finished applying a generous amount of lube to his shaft and plunged into Connie's ass with gusto. “Stuff her throat, already.”

  
  


Jacob, still caught between curiosity and arousal could only offer nominal complaint as Connie gripped his throbbing shaft and poised her lips at the crown.

  
  


“Jesus, you smell just like him.” Connie breathed deeply and lunged, sucking Jacob's cock into the back of her throat. Jacob grunted, off balance and forced to step forward to stay upright – playing right into her hands, as his hips met her face. The sensation of her tongue working under his shaft, reaching past her lips to touch his scrotum as she made a wet gagging noise sent a tingle of euphoria to Jacob's ear and toes. Out of reflex, he grabbed her head, if only to keep his balance on now weak knees.

  
  


“Right, then.” Elliot grabbed Connie's hips and began driving into her ass, guttural grunts and squeaks gurgling from her nose and mouth as Tavish's valet despoiled her anus mercilessly. Jacob, trapped in the vacuum of Connie's throat as she force-fed his dick into her mouth, found himself mystified by the experience and the surrealism of the situation.

  
  


“What the fuck...” Jacob gasped, looking down into Connie's eyes. His hands cradled her head, now, his left caressing strands of hair from her face. Connie glared up at him with unbridled lust, her face flushed a deep red as she drew back long enough to take a gasping breath, her hands still gripping his hips with iron determination.

  
  


“Fuck my face, Jacob.” She growled. “Fuck my throat while Elliot tears my ass apart.”

  
  


Jacob glanced up to Elliot, but immediately his gaze drew back down to Connie's burning stare.

  
  


“Do it, Jacob.” Elliot grunted, his thrusting bouncing Connie's lips against the head of Jacob's saliva-covered penis. “The lady insists.”

  
  


_Well, if she insists._ Jacob mentally shrugged and repositioned his hands to either side of the back of Connie's tangled mane. _Fuck it._

  
  


“Yesss.” Connie hissed, her voice suddenly muffled into a series of wet squishing sounds and a shrill keening noise as she instinctively fought to breathe against the invading cock down her throat. For her body's efforts, her hands kept a fierce grip on Jacob's hips and pulled him toward her face violently even as he tried to find his own deliberate pace in this insane menage.

  
  


Jacob's cock felt ten feet long, sliding forever inside that tight throat, the muscles of Connie's cheeks, tongue, and esophagus massaging him wetly forever as he plunged forward and rocked backward. It felt like ages, his dick stretching further and further into her neck, the nerves alive with ecstasy as every thrust took longer and longer to complete. Connie was still staring up at Jacob, tears streaming down her nearly-purple face as the skin of her neck distended from his cock's invasion of her throat.

  
  


_Fuck. I'm..._ and even as Jacob gave thought to the idea of orgasm, it leaped away from him, just out of reach again. Connie gurgled contentedly, her body convulsing from a series of intense orgasms. The contraction of muscles brought Elliot to his climax, dumping semen up her ass with several satisfied grunts.

  
  


Jacob grimaced, realizing he wasn't going to orgasm. Without thinking, he gripped Connie's hair tightly and pounded his hips against her face in frustration. She whined, her grip on his slackened but she didn't push away. He could just feel the loosening of her jaw, her tongue going limp, weird popping sound her nose made when it smashed against his pubic bone. His orgasm came no closer, but Connie began to shiver unexpectedly. Jacob stopped. _What the_ _ **fuck**_ _am I doing?!_

  
  


“Son.” Sam Tavish's voice cut through Jacob's fugue, sending the boy to a paralyzed panic.

  
  


Jacob's dick still in her mouth, Connie gasped and thrashed; wrenching her head free of his suffocating cock to drag in deep lungfuls of air. Jacob's hands fell limply to his sides, his eyes still on Connie's face. He didn't know what to do. She didn't seem all that concerned with Sam... why would she be? She'd already admitted that Jacob _smelled just like him_. Elliot, ever poised, has stopped thrusting into Connie's ass and simply stepped backward, his swollen dick springing free and splashing lube and semen against Connie's thighs.

  
  


“Elliot, Connie, I didn't realize the two of you were so engaged.” Sam sighed heavily. “Please give us the room, you can compose yourselves next door. Do be discreet.”

  
  


…

  
  


“What do you mean _normal_?” Jacob had found a sort of righteous indignation after his father's blasé reaction to catching his son and manservant fucking one of the congregation on his desk.

  
  


“Precisely that.” Sam Tavish retrieved a bottled tea from the mini-fridge behind his desk and offered it to his son. “Humans are copulatory animals. Sex is normal. Why should I be angry, or you ashamed?”

  
  


Jacob took the offered tea and cracked the seal, quaffing half the contents without taking a breath. He still couldn't wrap his head around what was happening.

  
  


“You have questions, of course.” Sam held up a hand to stay his son's response. “And I have some answers that may be useful. You'll be eighteen in a few weeks, and you're done 'playing around'. I, for one, only wish your mother were still alive to see this day.”

  
  


“What?” Jacob blurted, caught completely off-guard.

  
  


“I'm proud. She'd be proud.” Sam's tone was almost dismissively bland. “It's complicated, like that, but I need you to know that I do not fault you for succumbing to baser impulses. It's natural. I can't fault a squirrel for seeking acorns, dogs for chasing cats, politicians for lying... it's their nature... well, except that last bit, that's a learned trait.”

  
  


“I don't... I don't understand this at all.” Jacob's face was slack, eyes wide in confusion.

  
  


“No, I didn't figure you would, at first.” Sam fixed Jacob with that steel gaze. “But you're my son, and I have a responsibility to educate you.”

  
  


… to be continued …


End file.
